A Moment is All It Takes
by Bramblerose4
Summary: For Sherlock to injure his pride and get what he wants. A series of short drabbles.
1. Feeling Green Over This

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A short drabble to start off the weekend; enjoy!

A Moment is All It Takes

Sherlock wished Lestrade would stop chatting to John about football scores (_boring) _and get back to work so they could leave already, it was cold and he wanted to get something to eat. Plus, he didn't like how Lestrade was looking at his doctor.

"Would you prefer it if I talked to John with my eyes closed?" the DI asked him, breaking into Sherlock's thoughts.

Sherlock blinked. "Excuse me?" he asked, covering up the fact that he hadn't been paying attention.

Sherlock gaze went passed Lestrade's shoulder to John who looked horrified, his cheeks were red and he had trouble making eye contact with the consultant detective.

"I said that out loud." Sherlock stated, deducing the doctor's reaction.

"Yes, you did." Lestrade nodded. He seemed unfazed by Sherlock's outbrust. "But you're right, I need to start sorting through these files, it's going to take a while and I'd rather not have you glaring and me the entire time." The DI promised, picking up a handful of manila folders. "So why don't you take _your _doctor and go home. I'll text you when I've found something."

Sherlock studied the man in front of him, pleased that he was getting his way. Let Lestrade think Sherlock had embarrassed himself, he was still leaving with John and it couldn't have come at a better time, since the lunch rush had ended his favorite Chinese take-out would be eager to get rid of their leftovers. Not a bad trade-off in Sherlock's mind.

"Thanks, Geoff. You know how to contact me. Come on, John."


	2. Every Body Needs to Eat

"Come on Sherlock."

"No, John," the detective huffed, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

"Every _body_ has to eat Sherlock that includes yours." John pointed out, waving the wooden meat skewer in front of his flat mate's face.

"I agree, but a kabob?"

"What's wrong with it?" John sniffed. "It's lamb, one of your favorites."

"No, it's a _kabob_," Sherlock said, showing his disgusting by stressing the word. "Not one of my favorites."

"Yeah, well if you'd eaten earlier, like I wanted, our choices wouldn't be as limited as they are now, would they?" John indicated, gesturing to the street cart they were standing near.

"You know that eating while I work,"

"Slows you down, yes I know." John interrupted, "and so does passing out in the middle of the road from starvation."

Sherlock merely huffed and shrugged his shoulders, refusing to look at the doctor.

"Okay, don't eat it, but you're not allowed to complain about being hungry later if you do."

Sherlock snapped his gaze back to John at the doctor's words. The two friends stared at each other, hoping to bend the other to his will. Sherlock thought he stood a fair chance of winning until his stomach moaned in hunger, destroying any victory he may have had.

John smiled, knowingly and once again held out the food.

"Fine." Sherlock growled in the back of his throat. Begrudgingly the consultant detective grabbed the offered late night food and brought it to his nose. Sherlock sniffed it carefully glaring at the doctor as he did so, before lowering it to his mouth. Tentatively he took a bite, making a great show of his chewing and swallowing. "Hmn. Not bad, I've had better."

"Of course you have," John replied sarcastically, shaking his head. "I swear you can be the fussiest eater at the worst times."

"Just because I like quality when it comes to my food," Sherlock slipped in under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing, John." Sherlock promised and turned to the street vendor. "I'd like three more lamb kabobs please. Only this time make it medium rare with less salt."

John stared at his friend and guffawed. "That's it I give up."

"I don't see why you're so upset, John. I minute ago you wanted me to eat, and now you're unhappy because I am. You must learn to 'stick to your guns', as it were otherwise no one will take you seriously."

John made a face like he was about to protest, but instead shoved his own kabob in his mouth, no doubt to stop the rude comment from coming out.

Pity, Sherlock thought, John can have the most colorful commentary when the mood strikes him.


	3. His Decision

"Come with me, John," Sherlock implored, his voice matching his eyes; bright and full of promise.

How could John truly refuse Sherlock and be making the right choice?

He nodded and Sherlock beamed. "Great. Bring your gun, though I hope it isn't needed. Oh and uh, leave your wallet."

John sighed, but did as he instructed. He double checked the gun, making sure the gun was loaded and the safety was active before tucking it in his back belt loop. He still had his coat on so he knew his wallet was on him, but he checked it, too just to reaffirm that it was indeed there. He pulled it out and placed it on the side table and headed to the stairs.

Sherlock was waiting for him at the bottom of the stair, his back turned to him. Impatient as ever, thought John. He was about to tell Sherlock that he was ready to go when the seventh step gave a loud creak and the consultant detective opened the door.

John grinned realizing the detective had been focusing his sole attention on the sound of him on the stair. There was something endearing about Sherlock waiting on him, though John wasn't given any time to think about it as their cab arrived and Sherlock all but shoved John into it. John noted that Sherlock had touched his back right where he had stashed his handgun when he entered the cab but he didn't comment on it, he was getting used to dealing with whatever Sherlock did in order to cover his basis. John had no idea what maddness they were rushing into and John found thathe didn't mind too much, after all he had agreed to come with Sherlock.


	4. What He Doesn't See

**What He Doesn't See**

"I'm popping out for a bit." John announced from the hallway. "Should be gone for a few hours, if you need me I'll be at-"

"-at Sarah's. Yes, I know." Sherlock supplied without looking away from his computer.

John stood stunned in the doorway. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Easy, you've just come from upstairs but you haven't entered the room. Instead, you are hovering near the coat rack with a hand covering your right pocket as you check for your house keys. Clearly, you're on your way out. It's too late for the clinics to be open so it's not work related. Plus, you put on cologne which you rarely do unless you want to be noticed but you usually overdo it when you met someone new. The fact that I can barely smell you means that you put on just enough to attract attention, but not too much so that you'll stand out. There are a few droplets of cologne on your left ear just below the lobe where there hasn't been enough time for it to sink into your skin, as if you have added it as an afterthought."

"Yeah, okay, that still doesn't explain how you know that I'm seeing Sarah," John pointed out.

"That isn't too difficult considering you received a text from her ten minutes ago asking 'to pop over for a visit' whatever that means," Sherlock sneered and held out his left arm; in his hand he held John's mobile.

"How do you have my mobile?"

"You left it on the counter when you brought down the teacups that had accumulated in your room over the last week."

The phone chimed and before John could stop him, Sherlock had opened the text and read it silently before typing a reply.

"Sher-Sherlock, what did you do?" John insisted. "What did she say?"

"Nothing of importance," Sherlock reassured but didn't elaborate. "What I don't know is what you see in her."

"No, I don't suppose you would." John retorted, walking across the room toward his flat mate.

Sherlock turned as John approached him, watching him carefully as the blond snatched the phone out of his hand, his nostrils flaring.

"Stop stealing my phone," the doctor ordered, securing his scarf inside his jacket. "And quit smelling me."

Sherlock tilted his head back and forth and shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

"See you later, try not to shoot the wall while I'm away."

"No promises," Sherlock promised a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth as he heard John snort.

"Yeah, okay. Bye Sherlock," John said before he stomped out of the room and trotted down the stairs.

"Bye," he replied sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. He stayed that way for several minutes before coming out of his reverie and returned to his typing.


End file.
